That Would Be Betty
by sadlady
Summary: Bodie takes a shine to Cowley's secretary


Usual Disclaimer

I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.

I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

**THAT WOULD BE BETTY**

Tuesday Morning

"C'mon Betty, it's only for dinner." Bodie used his best wheedling voice, coupled with his 'little boy lost' look as he tried to persuade Betty to have dinner with him.

She gave an exasperated sigh. The handsome, blue-eyed agent had been relentless in his requests for a date. She was alternately flattered he had asked, yet conscious of his reputation. However, this was the fourth time he'd asked, he did treat her differently, and it was 'only dinner'.

"Oh Bodie. If I say yes will you please get off my desk and go away?"

The frank look of delight that crossed his face brought her up short. It was not what she'd expected.

Bodie left the office, beaming like a Cheshire cat.

He'd always liked George Cowley's secretary. Her no nonsense attitude, and devotion to their boss both intrigued and appealed to him. She was so different to his usual 'type' as well. Bodie usually favoured tall, sophisticated women whose morals were as flexible as his own. Dating was a game he played well, loving and leaving his women so exquisitely they never held a grudge once he'd moved on.

It wasn't that he treated women badly, it was more that he didn't treat himself properly. He truly believed he was the unlovable little boy from Birkenhead whose step father blamed him for every horse that finished last, every woman that turned away from his drunken advances and every employer that fired him.

Betty had got under his skin. He found it amusing that she considered him a nuisance; always in the way, sitting on her desk or trying to read over her shoulder. Both he and Doyle spent an inordinate amount of time with George Cowley, so by default they were frequently in her office too.

He took great delight in gently teasing her - commenting on her hair or clothes, asking her about her boyfriends. She responded by either ignoring him totally or suddenly becoming very busy and focussed. Bodie saw straight through her ruse and thought her embarrassment at his teasing, charming.

Thursday Afternoon

Doyle had watched his partner flirt shamelessly with other female staff at CI5 over the years. He'd also noticed how differently he treated George Cowley's secretary. Following another friendly sparring session earlier that morning, Doyle voiced his opinion as they drove through London.

"She's outta your league mate," he said.

Bodie continued driving, eyes on the road.

"No she's not. She just doesn't realise the truth yet." He slowed down as the car joined a lengthy traffic jam. He briefly looked at Doyle. "I'm not in **her** league."

Doyle sat back and closed his eyes. Secretly he thought Bodie and Betty would make a good couple. She had the intelligence to deal with Bodie's idiosyncrasies and she understood the job. '_Something most of our other girlfriends can't deal with' _he thought.

"Ask her out for dinner. In fact, don't give her a chance to say no. Book somewhere nice."

Doyle was in full matchmaking mode now.

"What about that Italian place in Dean Street? Pricey, but the food's good."

Bodie arched a brow.

"What number is it in the Doyle Good Food Guide?" he asked.

Doyle grinned.

"Oh well," he replied. "A two. Brilliant place! Took Sally there a couple of weeks ago. I recommend the zabaglione."

Bodie pulled into the garage and switched off the engine. The men got out of the Capri, and made their way through the security and into the headquarters of CI5.

"You and Sally eh." Bodie chuckled. "You kept that quiet."

Doyle shrugged his shoulders.

"It's not serious," he answered. "We get together now and again. She was good to me after I hurt my wrist . . . helped me around the house . . . "

"I heard about that," said Bodie. "all the comforts of home, apparently!"

Doyle looked affronted.

"I'd hurt me wrist . . . you were away . . . I needed someone to tie me shoelaces . . . "

Bodie sniggered.

"Yeah, and the rest." he responded, before breaking away and running up the stairs.

The men arrived at the top of the stairs breathless and laughing. George Cowley peered round the corner of his door at the young men.

"Bodie! Doyle! When you've stopped behaving like a pair of schoolboys, I've work for you."

Thursday Evening

Later that evening, Bodie presented himself at a small mews house in Regents Park. He rang the bell and stood back. He could hear a television in the background and low voices. Suddenly the door swung open, and a statuesque redhead stood there. She looked him up and down, coolly appraising the tall man.

"Yes? Can I help you? Her voice was low and well modulated.

Bodie spoke.

"Is Betty here?"

"Betty! Bet! There's a rather attractive man on the doorstep, asking for you."

Betty appeared at the top of the stairs. Grabbing a jacket she ran down the stairs.

"Thanks Liz." She looked up at Bodie.

"Hello Bodie."

"Shall we go?" he said sweeping his arm and pointing to the car. "Your chariot awaits."

Liz watched them leave, shaking her head and smiling.

The food was as good as Doyle had intimated, and the wine selection was varied. Betty enjoyed herself far more than she had expected. Bodie was a true raconteur and told stories of his past that became more colourful as the evening wore on. Betty laughed at his description of the early days with Doyle, adding that she thought they would either kill each other or become the best of friends. By the dessert stage, Bodie knew he was captivated by his boss's secretary.

They left the restaurant just before eleven. The West End was in full swing, a bustling place full of tourists, theatregoers spilling out after the performances, and nightclubs. They walked up Wardour Street to the NCP car park to collect the car. Betty felt the light pressure of Bodie's arm around her shoulders, and the faint aroma of an expensive aftershave. She took a quick sidelong glance at him.

_He really is very good looking_, she thought. _I'd kill for eyelashes like that_. She became aware he was staring down at her.

"You OK Bet?" he asked. "Did you enjoy the meal? Doyle suggested the place."

"Bodie, it was lovely thank you. I've really enjoyed myself."

They collected the car. Bodie navigated the busy London streets with aplomb, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick. Betty stared at the montage of lights, people, taxis and buses. The city seemed more awake now than during the day.

They arrived at the mews flat fifteen minutes later. They sat outside for a while making small talk, both aware of an unspoken attraction.

"I should go in Bodie. I've an early start tomorrow. Mr Cowley has a breakfast meeting with the Minister at nine, and I have to make sure he's got all the files he needs."

Bodie smiled in the darkness.

"Not sorted it out yet!" he jibed playfully.

Betty smacked his arm.

"Of course I have! But you never know what might happen overnight. I always do a final check before he leaves."

She felt around for her handbag, and went to open the door. Bodie was there first. He swept the door open in an exaggerated manner and offered a hand to help her out. He steered her by the elbow to the front door.

There was a brief silence as they stood at the door.

"Do you want to come in for a coffee . . . "

"I'll let you get your beauty sleep - not that you need it . . . "

Both sentences were left unfinished, as Bodie wrapped her in his arms and kissed her gently but chastely on her cheek.

They stood entwined for a few seconds, before Betty stood back. Staring Bodie straight in the eye, she spoke,

"Is that the best you can do Bodie? I'd heard so much . . . "

For a split second Bodie looked nonplussed; then he pulled her towards him and fastened his mouth on hers, tasting and exploring her, while she held him tightly.

Betty fumbled for the key, a difficult manoeuvre when she was imprisoned in Bodie's arms. Together they stumbled into the hall before they finally freed each other. Bodie looked down at the small, pretty woman. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes twinkled.

"Well, I didn't expect that," she said.

Bodie leaned against the door frame, languid and relaxed.

"Neither did I," he admitted. "In fact, I'm quite of out my depth . . . I just wanted to take you out for dinner . . . "

He was silenced by a small finger pressed against his lips.

He followed Betty into the kitchen, where she made two mugs of coffee. He felt vaguely unsure of himself. The evening had taken a turn he didn't expect. He was musing when Betty took his hand and led him into the lounge. She put the mugs on a table and sat on the sofa, drawing her legs up under her. She looked at Bodie steadily.

"Bodie," she began, "I've had a wonderful evening; much better than I thought. I wasn't too sure what to expect . . . " she smiled at his startled look.

"Well, you do have a bit of a reputation you know. Some of the stories I've heard are, interesting, to say the least."

Bodie managed to look both contrite and pleased at the same time.

The clock ticked quietly in the background. They talked softly about their 'date', gossiped about their colleagues and how Doyle had kept his relationship with Sally quiet.

"I wondered about that," said Betty. "Sal is very career minded. She wants to get on in CI5. Wants Cowley's job in time. I wonder how Doyle would feel working underneath her."

"Think he's already tried it," remarked Bodie with an ill disguised smirk.

Betty shook her finger at him.

"Bodie, you are really very rude," she said. The severity of her tone was at odds with her smile.

They sat quietly together. Bodie had moved closer to Betty, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Somewhere outside, a clock struck one. Bodie shifted his body and made to get up.

"I should go," he said softly. "It's getting late."

Betty watched him as he rose, thinking how good he looked in black. Quickly she got up and caught his arm.

"Don't go! Stay . . . please!"

Bodie stood there rooted to the spot. Such an end to the evening had not been on his mind. He'd always thought Betty was out of his league. Unattainable. He'd joked with Doyle about having a fling with her, but then he'd joked about having a fling with most of the female staff of CI5.

He shuffled his feet, suddenly out of control of the evening.

He went to speak but Betty cut in quickly.

"Bodie! Please don't get the wrong idea. I would never usually do this. I'm not that sort of person."

He looked at her, noting the tears forming in her blue eyes.

"Adrian finished with me a couple of weeks ago. He just sent a note saying it was over - no explanation at all. I've been all over the place since then. I feel so . . . unlovable. I know there isn't a future for us, and I'm not sure I want one. All I know is that I want you near me tonight."

Bodie remembered Adrian Jackson-Miles, a young high flying member of the Whitehall elite. He dimly recollected Betty having a photograph of him on her desk, and how angry she'd got when he passed a less than flattering comment on him.

Seeing her visibly upset and obviously worried she'd come across as an easy lay touched him. He pulled her towards him and hugged her. He stroked her hair and thumbed away an errant tear.

"Sweetheart. If you want me to stay, then that's fine. No need to explain. I'm yours for the night." He nodded towards the stairs.

"Will your flat mate mind?"

Betty stared up at him.

"No, but it wouldn't matter anyway," she said.

They climbed the stairs in silence, Betty leading the way, her small hand clasping Bodie's. Her room was neat and tidy with a definite feminine touch to it. Bodie sniffed the air as they entered. He smiled to himself - Chanel No 5 - exactly the perfume he'd assumed Betty would wear.

He sat down on the bed, and pulled her towards him. She stood in front of him, their heights better matched now. She put her hands on his shoulders and leant in to kiss him. She slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, and slipped her hands inside. Bodie caught his breath as her fingers grazed his chest.

"I think we'd both be better off snuggled under the duvet, love - especially if you're going to undo any more of my shirt."

Betty awoke the next morning, warm and relaxed. The sun streaming through the window. She looked at the clock - half past six. She turned over and encountered the solid mass that was Bodie. She pushed herself up on her elbow and looked down and the sleeping man. He lay there, looking far younger than his thirty odd years. Sleep softened the planes of his face, and his lashes, thick and black, rested against the faint blueish tinged skin under his eyes.

She idly traced a line from the hollow of his throat, down his chest to his belly button. She smiled as Bodie murmured to himself. He moved his arm over his head and tugged at the duvet. Betty watched, captivated by his vulnerability in sleep.

She laid back and thought of the events of earlier.

Bodie had been true to his word. He had undressed her gently, taking his time to explore her body. She had returned the favour, wordlessly. She was surprised at how toned he was, how solid he was. He laid her on the bed, and lowered himself next to her. For a long while he held her, stroking her hair and her shoulders. She kept her face pressed against his chest, slowly relaxing and accepting Bodie's ministrations.

She hadn't been surprised when their first coupling was fast and furious. She wanted Bodie badly, and sensed that he also needed a quick release. The second time, Bodie had taken his time, bringing her to the edge of pleasure, while controlling his own body. The result had been noisy and satisfying.

She pushed back the duvet and slipped out of bed. She ran a bath and luxuriated in the scented bubbles, while listening to the radio. She didn't hear Bodie enter the bathroom, and gave a shriek when he stepped into the bath with her. Smiling at her discomfort, he lowered himself down, lifting her onto his lap. He put his arms around her, slopping water onto the floor with the movement.

"Morning love? Sleep well?" he asked.

Betty lay back against him.

"I think you know the answer to that," she replied. "Thanks Bodie . . . for not judging and for just being there." She passed him a sponge and some bath oil.

He soaped up and ran the sponge over his chest and arms. He kissed the top of her head.

"Don't apologise. I'm glad it happened," he replied. "Now, we both need to get a move on. The old man will have work for both of us, no doubt."

They finished their ablutions and got ready to leave.

They left the flat shortly after; Bodie unlocked the Capri and climbed in. Betty was more hesitant.

"Do you think it's wise for us to arrive at work together?"

Bodie considered the question.

"Well, no-one knows where I've been do they; and does it really matter?"

She stood there for a second and then got in the car.

"No it doesn't any more. I spent far too long putting Adrian's feelings first. Now it's my turn."

The drive to CI5 HQ was quick and uneventful. Betty asked that they make a brief stop at a small baker on the way in, where she bought two croissants.

"The major likes these with his morning tea," she explained.

Once at the office they parted, Betty giving the handsome agent a hug. She made her way to her office, humming to herself.

Bodie went to the locker room and ran an electric razor over his splashed on some aftershave and quickly changed his shirt for a cream polo neck jumper. He always kept a couple at work, 'in case of emergencies'. He made his way to the agents' staff room and freshened up the urn. It was still early and no other agents were around. He washed up some mugs, refilled the sugar bowl and made his way to his desk. For the next hour he completed some reports, an expense form and then read yesterday's paper.

Slowly, other agents drifted in. More tea was brewed, and toast made from the loaf Jax thoughtfully provided. About eight forty five Doyle put in an appearance, placing a plate of buttered toast on his desk. When he caught sight of the neat pile of reports and paperwork on his partner's desk, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wandered up to Bodie and began prodding the papers. He walked round the back of his partner's chair and sniffed the air. Slowly he let his eyes travel towards George Cowley's office, where Betty was arranging files on her boss's desk.

"You," he stated flatly, "didn't spend last night at 'ome."

Bodie raised an eyebrow.

"Detective Constable Doyle! How can you possibly know where I spent last night?" He lolled back in his chair, a grin beginning to spread over his features.

Doyle perched on the corner of the table, his feet on the edge of Bodie's chair.

He began counting off on his fingers.

"One, you've used an electric razor this morning – the one you keep in your locker. It doesn't shave as close as a wet shave, which you prefer. Two, you've got the cream polo on – you put it in your locker last week, along with the black one, and three, you smell," Doyle delicately wrinkled his nose, " of Chanel No 5!"

Bodie, unabashed at Doyle's knowledge of women's luxury perfumes, nodded in agreement.

"You're so right mate. However I had an enjoyable evening and it's something I plan to repeat."

Doyle finished a slice of toast and leaned across for another. Bodie batted his friend's hand away.

"That's mine. I need to keep my strength up. I've had a busy night."

Doyle muttered to himself and slid off the desk.

It was an uneventful morning. For this day at least, terrorists, criminals and their ilk had decided to lie low. After his meeting with the Minister, Cowley called together all the agents for a morning briefing. He seemed in a better humour than of late too.

"Gentlemen. Let's not be complacent, but it does seem that this fair and pleasant island is relatively peaceful at the moment. Jackson and Roberts – there is a need for some low level observation at Tilbury docks. Nothing firm, but it won't hurt you to spend the day there. You're looking for a yacht, the 'Miriam Rose'. Could be nothing at all, could be drugs. Report back this evening."

He dispensed other low key work to a couple of other teams and then suggested the rest of them complete outstanding paperwork.

"Bodie! Doyle! My office please. We need to look at the forthcoming visit from Michael Docherty. I'm not sure the IRA will take kindly to these 'peace talks'."

The partners followed their boss up to his office. Bodie went in first, followed by Doyle. As they walked past Betty, Doyle stopped and gave her big smile.

"Morning Bet. Everything OK?" he asked.

They entered Cowley's private office and sat around a table examining itineraries, maps and hotels. When Cowley was satisfied they had covered all bases, he rang through to Betty for tea and sandwiches.

"Och, and you'd better bring in some for these two," he growled. "Doyle's stomach is rumbling, and it's spoiling my concentration, and Master Bodie is yawning his head off!" He got up and left his office, barking instructions for them to wait.

Bodie, slumped in a chair stared at the retreating back of his boss.

"He doesn't usually share his lunch. Wonder what's up?"

Doyle cackled quietly.

"Bet he doesn't know you're sharing other things either."

Bodie turned towards his partner, somewhat amazed that Doyle had sussed things out.

"What's that then?"

" 'That' would be Betty," replied Doyle

"How did you arrive at that conclusion Sherlock?"

Doyle put on his most disarming smile.

"Elementary my dear Bodie," he replied. "I followed you in the office. I saw Betty blow you a kiss. You acknowledged it with a dip of your head . . . and she uses the same bath oil as you!"

Bodie held his hand up in mock surrender.

"The Met lost a good man when you moved over here," answered Bodie. "Super sleuth!"


End file.
